


DISTORTION

by blueballoonyellowshoe



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, Body Horror, Brutal Murder, Canon-Typical Violence, Confusion, Cults, Death, Drinking, Drug Abuse, Eldritch, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Existential Horror, Existentialism, F/F, F/M, Fuck Canon, Gore, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Lots of drinking, M/M, Major Character Injury, Multi, Murder, Mycenaean god, Mystery, Nobody is Dead, Non-Canon Relationship, Not Canon Compliant, Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, POV Original Character, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Recreational Drug Use, Religious Discussion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Romance, Self-Harm, This is trash, Torture, Violence, Wine, X-Gene (X-Men), X-Men mention, X-men - Freeform, a little more than typical canon violence, alternative universe, ancient gods? YEE, but waaay later, dionysus - Freeform, eldritch horror oc, i can do what i want, lots of death, mention of greek god as well as norse, no beta we die like men, nycenaean dionysus, reallllllly brutal murder, this is just my excuse to put my oc through the ringer, trash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28600119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueballoonyellowshoe/pseuds/blueballoonyellowshoe
Summary: "The basis of all true cosmic horror is the violation of nature, and the profoundest violations are always the least concrete and describable."Or, after a SHIELD worker turns up dead, turns out she's not dead, and she freaks Wanda the fuck out.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, OC/Pietro Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Kudos: 3





	DISTORTION

**Author's Note:**

> OTHERWISE KNOWN AS: Crackhead author tries to make herself sit down and right something so she can actually finish her novel deadline, gets sidetracked instead and sets computer on FIRE

There were pages of ramblings that made no sense to James. In fact, there were books—practically novels this woman had written about an observing god, a path, and some sort of gate.

“Glad to know our favorite shady organization is hiring whackos now.” Stark remarked, chucking another stack of notebooks on the small side table. The apartment was old and run down with only a bed, couch, tv, and a lamp in the studio besides a kitchen. There was a photo album on the bed with two photographs, several stacks of notebooks on the floor, and symbols drawn on paper covering the apartment from wall to wall. On the paper was a crudely drawn image of an eye, with something scribbled underneath that he couldn’t make out. Other than that, it was plain, and if it wasn’t for the strangeness Bucky would’ve thought no one had lived there for a long time.

Stark did a spin in a circle, his face saying his thoughts before his mouth opened, “and what’s with all the eyes? Jesus, if I wanted to walk through a haunted house I’d just go in Bucky’s room,” and without missing a beat, Wanda flew the photo album fast at Stark, hitting him hard enough in the chest to knock the wind out of him. Bucky liked it when one of the girls would put him into check, as he felt uncomfortable doing it himself.

There was nothing he had to say, as the man deserved to lash out somewhat. Being forced to house your parents’ killer in your home was less than an admirable situation.

“Shut up and look at the first photo. There’s something odd about it that I can’t put my finger on.” Stark sat on the couch, and it creaked as other gathered around him to gaze at the photo. In it was a picture of a younger African American women with long black hair, gold eyes, black glasses, and a white smile. She’s leaning into a white man with long brown hair and closed eyes, who’s kissing her on the cheek. The women’s hand is raised, held up by the man’s own hand, and on each is a simple gold band. Tony flipped over the picture, “Dale and Bernice, 2018. Looks like Otieno was married, but this is the only picture I’ve seen. We cleaned out her office and it looks like none of these journals have any more pictures of this guy. Have you done anymore digging on family or friends?” He gestured up to Natasha, who furrowed her brows in frustration. “The thing is nothing’s come up yet. Mother’s alive but she’s proving to be just as clueless as us, father’s dead, no legal guardians 2015, and for all legal purposes her husband died a few months ago. The next-door neighbor said she was pretty skittish as well, so none of them really knew her.” Nat walked away, going to a pile of notebook and lugging them against her body. Steve, who was flipping through more notebooks, asked Natasha about what she had meant about the mother, and Clint answered for her, throwing a file at Steve, “Esther Gales, she’s forty years old, had Otieno when she was a teenager. The lady seemed to be an outstanding citizen until 2013, where there’s a series of domestic abuse reports from neighbors and the paternal grandmother. Otieno’s removed in 2015, is released from her mother’s custody to the state, and mom is placed in Saint Johnson’s Criminal Psychiatric Hospital. Me and Nat tried to interview her yesterday, but the only thing we’d gotten out of her was—” _“When I sleep, I know no fear, no hope, no trouble, no bliss; blessings on him who invented sleep. There is only one bad thing about sleep: they say it closely resembles death. And in death you shall find me, drunk as I am, tired as I may be, **weak**. But you will fear me.”_ A gruff voice speaks from the recorder in Clint’s hand. There is a shuffling clink, as if someone is pulling against handcuffs. _“Ms. Gales, what do you mean by that?”_ A woman is heard screaming something unintelligible, and then the recording cuts off as staff rush to restrain the older woman. “That first parts from an old movie from the 1970’s. That’s all we got out of her. We’ve had others try to visit her since, but she’s given us nothing else. She just talks about religious nonsense and some sort of path she’s walking, which I don’t get, but trying to understand crazy is not what I’m paid for.”

As the team continued to shuffle through the small apartment, James let his thoughts rung their course. Ever since the events of HYDRA, controlling his mind, turning him into a monster, James had not thought of prayer. He had not thought of religion, of church, of demons and exorcisms and God, not only because he did not have the time, but he wasn’t sure he had the resilience to be faithful anymore. He knew Steve was still religious and tried to go to church as often as he could, so maybe he understood more about the comforts people found in God.

“…And the husband, he’s for sure dead.?” He finally piped up, more to fill the silence.

“Funeral was a closed casket, so we are checking in on that, but he was killed in March. Otieno found him, and there was a lot of suspicion in her being involved, but she was cleared of any charges a week after she was questioned. The neighbor said he sometimes heard her crying, and he suspected abuse but never got her to talk before she disappeared. Case was ruled as a robbery gone wrong and the man who did get charged hung himself in his cell.” Nat walked away, going to a pile of notebook and lugging them against her body, walking out of the apartment. SHIELD operatives had gone in and out of the place, as it was one of their own that had been murdered, no matter how small, all evidence would be taken back for them to exam.

James had gone from working with one shady organization to another, but at least he wasn’t enslaved by this one.

_BAM! KRRRRRRRRRK!_

The door to the bathroom slammed shut, and a loud boom erupted from the bathroom, as well as the sound of splashing water. They all jumped, weapons armed and ready and bodies tense.

Stark looked over slowly at Wanda and gestured, “Well, ladies first?” The witch clicked her tongue in response, and with a flick of her wrist the pushed open.

What he had seen made him think of the second photo.

The photo, not as eye catching as the first, was of Bernice by herself. She was standing in the bedroom of the apartment, and a mirror that was now covered by a white sheet was uncovered. She was holding a camera and smiling, but the sweater she was wearing sagged. On her shoulder, a mass of interconnected scarring covered the portion he could see, and there was probably more than what she had let slip. The mirror had an embedded gold eye at the top, which he had the strangest feeling it was staring at her, rather than the camera.

He was right about the scarring, as the shivering women looked around frantically, just as shocked as they were. The only difference was instead of black, her hair was stark white. Her wide, terrified golden eyes told him it was the same woman though, as did the rest of her face. She didn’t seem to notice them, breathing heavily, holding herself tightly and digging her nails into deep, what appeared to be self-inflicted scarring. “Bernice?” Steve tested; his face was covered in confusion. She didn’t answer, rocking back in forth in what appeared to be a thick maroon liquid. “Bernie?” The woman snapped her neck towards them, looking more afraid than he had ever seen another person before. She tried to back up, maroon liquid sloshing over the side of the tub, and closed her eyes, whispering. It sounded like gibberish, but Steve didn’t hesitate and rushed towards her, stooping down to slowly reach his hand out towards her. “Bernie, it’s me. Steve Rogers, remember? You assisted me with a mission a couple months ago.” She jolted, backing up away from his hand, more liquid sloshing on to the floor as the woman panicked, “hey, hey you’re okay! You’re okay!”

Her eyes opened once more, and slowly fixated on each of them, until she got to Wanda. She quickly looked away, focusing her attention back on Steve. The young woman reached out to touch his face, pulling slightly at the skin of his cheeks and rubbing her hands into his face. Steve made no move, but his face was beginning to turn red, _‘after all this time he’s still clumsy around pretty girls.’_ Bernice them took her hands off his face quickly and began to sob again.

“I’m back, I’m really **_back._** ” She cried, and everything felt like a blur from there to James. Stark made the move to call paramedics, as she was bleeding from digging into her wounds and practically hysterical, and had now planted herself firmly in Steve’s arms, even though the super soldier was clearly uncomfortable. **_“You’re real, you’re real, you’re real….”_** She repeated softly in between her cries, and as James turned to move out of the way, he noticed his footsteps felt **sticky.**

The smell of grapes drifted heavily in the room and throughout the apartment, and James did not understand what the hell is going on.


End file.
